One Foot In The Grave

Chapter 11: The Arcane Static

Ahalya, Day 14

I was standing on the gravel path outside Dwaraka, waiting and rubbing my forehead. Every part of me wished to sleep. My body ached and the saree I had been wearing all day suddenly weighed as if it was made of wet mud. All I wanted was to change into a t-shirt and pyjamas and doze. But Indira wouldn't let it happen. She was standing between Jagadeesh and Vishwa, posing for another selfie. She took a trillion selfies already and still needed one more. A pic with boys only, she said with a smug and a dramatic curl of her hip. So I slipped back, grunting with every click of the camera.

Surprisingly, Indira wasn't this chic with the people in the village. A benevolent, silent woman took over her when we were in the temple today. She hadn't said over ten words and smiled like someone stretched her cheeks and left them glued. Yamuna had sent us to the temple to distribute clothes while a professional photographer filmed us all the time. Indira and Jagadeesh came for the same reason. Later, I learned it was something the two families do together every year before the festival. How did I feel about it? Boring.

"Done," Indira said, scrolling through her phone.

Jagadeesh turned around, passed me a concerned look, and got into their car. It had been a few days since my unfortunate accident at the river. He visited two to three times, inquiring about my health, and we chatted sometimes, just silly banter about food, sketching and babies. Talking with him was the least I could do after he had dragged me out of the river to save my life.

Indira too got into the car and their driver sped the car out.

"Are you tired?" Vishwa asked, walking to me.

He looked good in his dark green shirt and blue denim jeans. His shiny chin told me he had shaved, and I envied him because I was the opposite of him, tired and full of doubts. My saree bored me. Based on the weather, I picked a silly ruby pink saree and it started to bother me now.

I smiled. "I can't even answer that."

He passed me a giggle, and we walked together inside. The swelling of my ankle went down and I could walk without leaning on anyone's (mostly Vishwa's) shoulder. I couldn't see him faking his care for another day. I didn't know if he knew I had been avoiding him or decided not to bring it up. Anyway, it saved me a shitty argument about why he had lied to me about the Instagram comment.

Vasu welcomed us without a smile. "How did the charity event go?"

"It's more of a photoshoot," I replied, and he chuckled.

Vishwa reached the stairs and asked, "What's for dinner?"

Vasu nudged his head back. "Brinjal curry."

That was the end of the conversation. It was how people in the house had been talking ever since my accident. It ruffled what I had known as normalcy around here. Yamuna completely immersed herself in the festival works and it began bothering Vishwa, but as usual, he said nothing.

The dim yellow lights glowed up in Dwaraka like it was a bleak and mysterious place from the A24 production house movies. Sofas seemed darker; bookshelves stood skeptical and the carpet on the stairs slithered as if it was a worn-out tongue. Vasu and I watched my fiancé climb up; his footsteps were the only echo around. No traces of remorse or guilt in his attitude irked me. What happened to the guy who hauled me to a beach in the middle of the night just to kiss me?

"I'm not eating today," I said.

Vasu shook his head. "No, that's not happening."

"You sounded like my mother there," I said, eyeing him with a tilted face.

"Just eat some curd rice and sleep. I don't want to take another scolding from Yamuna. She's been a lot bitchy lately."

I slouched as I stared at him. If I had access to Instagram,, I would have taken a random selfie with him and posted it.

"At least, give me time to change into something lighter."

"That I can do." He nodded like a jailer allowing a convict, and I laughed my way to the first floor. Despite Vasu opening all the windows, the walls denied the moonlight inside. It was half-yellow, quarter-white, and a totally poignant view. As I strolled to our room, the sudden coldness in the air alarmed me.

I halted outside, clutched my saree tight, and put my ear to the door. The jet of shower reached me, telling me my fiancé was in the bathroom. I slipped toward his childhood bedroom.

I opened the door and went straight to switch on the lights. The view was a basic minimum, with a bed to the right wall, windows closed, and high cupboards with wooden doors to the left. Still, it held something. Something unknown. When I pulled open the cupboard, the stack of sketched papers fluttered, and my heart jumped and settled. Why was I drawing these sketches? Why wouldn't I remember drawing them? Was I really drawing them? Or someone was planting them on me? I checked my right-hand fingertips, which still had a certain blackness. Soaking them in the soap water helped a bit. My questions had owned a part of my brain now.

I put my hand inside, grabbed my phone, which I plastered to a beam near the keyhole, and yanked it out. I clicked play with 1.5X speed, hurrying all the hours of footage. Nothing happened. No one broke into the house or entered the room. No one came looking for the existing sketches or planted new ones. The footage didn't surprise me. Ever since I woke up from a ghoulish, painful dream, I knew I had to figure out what was happening to me. I settled on the bed, staring at my phone, and exhaled my doubts. Yet, they didn't leave. With shivering hands, I sorted the previous footage, where I covered the night before. A part of me protested to see it again. Another part of me wanted reassurance. And another needed someone to share this; whatever this was. I couldn't fathom why I reduced into these parts instead of fighting this as a whole. The headache circled my head, and I shut my eyes for a second. This vacation was supposed to make me whole. Instead, it was ripping me off.

The sound of static forced my eyes open. My phone screen flowed with a constant buzz, like a television set with a flawed antenna. An incessant hissing. The static droned on for another minute with 1.5x speed and then went quiet again. A video remained with the window projecting silhouettes of night becoming the morning. I attempted to record myself coming into this room and sketching but failed. Almost as if I wasn't allowed to see it.

The hair on my skin wasn't settling. Why the static? I screamed in my head. Why couldn't my phone camera record a certain period of time in the morning? What's lurking in the shadows? Or who?

I threw my head back and recollected the dreams I had been having. Yes, they caused a certain amount of pain using my mother or my brother in different scenarios. Yes, they would render me helpless whenever I would wake up. All my strength was disappearing off my body. And I was sleepwalking to this room every single time.

The more I shut my eyes, the clearer I heard the buzz, lulling, resonating, and lingering. Same format every time. My mother's voice used to be like that. To be frank, I was scared. But I did not know what I was fearing. When I used to stay with my mother, she taught me an exercise. She said, 'Sing a rhyme, whenever you are scared and your mind goes to a happy place. Imagine both of us sitting next to each other and singing it together.' It worked until I turned fifteen and after that, I used music for the same purpose.

Sitting on the bed, I doubted if even the music could help me. It was tough to deal with a person's first mistake. I had been used to Vishwa being a perfect guy, now I was clueless to believe otherwise. Either that or Yamuna would've to remind me how he stayed, picking up my slack while I cried away my mother's death. Is that why he did this? I wondered. Punishment for being depressed for months without end.

How could I get out of this place? No one might find 'I am having nightmares' as a valid reason to leave. The buzz restarted in my head, and I gritted my teeth.

No. Please. Go away. Stop.

My grip on the phone tightened as I raised my hand and with one swooshing arc, I threw my phone at the wall. Its crash boomed in the air. Then it was the cracking of the glass screen I heard as it fell.

Next, Vishwa's doubtful, startled voice called my name: "Ahalya?" He seemed stunned at my behaviour and I blinked at him and the broken phone simultaneously, wishing he hadn't seen it.

Outside, a drizzle of rainhad begun.